


Eight Flavours of Skyhold

by Buggirl



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, Insects cw, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3599280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a kitchen in Skyhold and its always empty.  So here’s some drabbles on various Inquisitors cooking/preparing/sharing food for/with their LI.  Tags updated as fics completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breakfast of champions

As dawn breaks over Skyhold, Nan Trevelyan is up with the mountain larks fossicking and fussing in Skyholds compact yet effective kitchen. When the cook arrives, she’s surprised to see Nan there.

“Inquisitior?”

Nan is startled and turns abruptly to the cook. Her face is a mask of flour wielding a spoon in one hand and a spatula in the other. “ohh err yes I thought…”

The cook tries not to laugh. “Do you need something? I could have arranged to bring something earlier to your apartment if you’d asked.”

“Oh no it’s not that, I just wanted… I wanted to make some pancakes for Commander Cullen.” Nan replies sheepishly.

The cook gives a wry smile. “The Commander always likes a hearty breakfast. Very thoughtful of you, your Worship.” She sees the pan and the charred mess within, “Is that… bacon?”

Nan’s sheepish look remains.

The cook then eyes the bowl in front of Nan. “What is that? And why is it grey?"

“I thought…” Nan scratches the back of her head and looks down like a scolded child. “Maker knows what I thought.”

“Tell me, your Worship, have you actually cooked anything before?” 

“Ha well, yes, I guess, growing up it wasn’t something I was brought up to do, although I used to like watching Malcom our resident cook do things in the kitchen, when he let me of course that is.”

“Let me dear.” The cook sighs and holds her hand out for the spoon and spatula currently in Nan’s hands.

“Why don’t you prepare the tray, your Worship? Maybe cut some berries and put them in a bowl? Don’t forget the syrup.”

Nan nods obediently, and does as asked before watching cook weave her magic with these unforgiving ingredients. If that spatula were a sword Nan would have felt more comfortable.

Finally the tray is ready, a huge stack of fluffy pancakes are piled high with a side of syrup, berries and bacon, plus whipped butter and cream. Nan looks forlornly at the grey pancake mix as cook tips that and the blackened bacon in the rubbish pile.

“Thank you” she mouths quietly and the cook nods and smiles as she leaves.

Getting up a ladder to her lovers bedroom with a tray full of plates seems easy in comparison to her feeble cooking attempts.

Cullen is still asleep as she lays the tray at the side of the bed.

“Cullen.” She whispers. He rouses at her voice and rolls over grabbing her hand. “I missed you. Where were you?” he says sleepily.

“I cooked us breakfast.”

“You?” he sits so he can look her in the eye.

“Yes of course. Who else?” she says as she crosses her hands across her chest.

Cullen glances over the tray and places his hand on Nan’s face to wipe away the flour spot on her nose. “You are all manner of things, Inquisitor. Beautiful, talented, a warrior that I am proud to fight alongside. And I shall add, you’re a mighty fine kisser too. But you’re not a good liar.” He shakes his head.

“Hush now and eat your pancakes. That I definitely cooked for you.”

He kisses her first, long and soft and fluffier and sweeter than any pancake could ever be.


	2. Burned into my heart

"All right you bothersome elf. Get off your backside, we got things to do.” Nessa Adaar shakes the half asleep elf.

Sera opens one eye “Go away. I’m having my first nap of the day. So unless you came to spoon, go away.”

"It’s 9 in the morning. You got dressed. Why bother napping, when you could have stayed in bed?"

“Because I like napping. And bed is for… well you know.” Sera sat up quickly. “Well, no you don’t. Because you weren’t there. You went somewhere without me. So go away.”

“Really, you’re sulking because I didn’t take you with me when I went with Leliana?”

“Maybe.” Sera looks up at Nessa a pout on her lips.

Nessa shakes her head. “C’mon you.” She grabs Sera’s hand and drags her down the stairs to the courtyard. 

“Where are we going?” Sera asks as she jumps on Nessa’s back, making sure to avoid the qunari’s horns.

Nessa grabs Sera’s thighs and hoists her higher.

“To the kitchen.”

“Ugh, why? Cook will be there, being all grumpy and horrible.”

“Cook has gone to visit family. Won’t be back for a week.”

They cross the courtyard and down the stairs around the lower courtyard. They see Blackwall standing outside the stables. 

Sera waves to him “Mornin’ beardy git”

Nessa waves too and they make their way up the stairs to the kitchen.

“Right.” Nessa says.

Sera presses a kiss against her neck as she drops to the floor.

“So why are here?” Sera asks.

“We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Uhhh oh no you… silly git.” And Sera’s laugh is loud and open mouth. “Not with raisins I hope.” 

“Why on earth would I put those mini-turd monstrosities in a baked good? We have chocolate.” Nessa grins widely.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Sera pushes against her. “Silly git.”

The bowls come out, the ovens stoked and the preparation begins. 

Flour, sugar, butter, milk.

A touch of salt.

“I’m looking forward to giving you one.” Nessa sniggers.

“Watch out for your jugs.” Sera replies, smirking and pointing to the two jugs of milk by Nessa’s side.

Nessa hands Sera a spoon. “Not too much liquid Sera. Beware the soggy bottom.”

Sera snorts with laughter placing a finger in the mix. “There’s a lot of moisture in here.”

“That’s why it wets the finger.” Nessa replies.

The dough is done and they cut heart shapes into the mix and place them in the oven.

“How long do we wait?” Sera asks.

“20 minutes at least.”

They look into each other’s eyes.

“The library?” Sera asks.

“The library.” Nessa replies.

An hour and half later smoke billows from the kitchen and several soldiers rush to see what the problem is.

Nessa and Sera finally emerge from the library and saunter back hand in hand.

Nessa sniffs the air. “Oh shit.” She says.

When they arrive, several soldiers are trying to wave smoke from the room and a tray of burnt heart shape cookies lies on the floor.

Sera picks one up and shrugs. “We can always find a use for them. Ammunition to throw at Corysmellyfish?”

“We can always make more.” Nessa replies.

“I’d rather go back to the library.” Sera says.

Nessa scoops her up and kisses her.

They head back to the library.


	3. Tea for two

Gwyndolyn Lavellan looks up to the shelf. The cook has outdone herself she thinks. The selection outstanding. Now all she needs is to find the right mix of leaves to make the brew.

It’s something she learnt from her clan’s healer that she carries with her. She does it because it calms her. In times of stress even just making a pot for someone else fills her soul with delight. There is something about tea that even when you are healthy and well that soothes in so many ways. What started as simply a medicine has grown into much more than that.

Gwyn knows there are blends that stimulate too and today she hopes she can mix a blend that pleases him. That doesn’t offend him.

Gwyn grabs several of the boxes in front of her and opens them.

When she first saw him drinking tea she had to admit that it was almost love at first sight. A tea drinker? An elf? This pleased her more than she cared to admit.

But he hadn’t been so welcoming to her attempts to create a perfect blend, one that might unite them in some unspoken bond, one where he didn’t screw up his nose like he was drinking dishwater.

Gwyn places her hands on the bench in exasperation. Solas was so… so damn frustrating. There so many times she wanted to hug him, at other times punch him. Or punch him then hug him.

More than anything, she wants to kiss him and wants him to return that kiss in kind.

She closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of the herbs and leaves of the open boxes.

It had been especially cold in Skyhold in the last week. A fiery blend perhaps? Or maybe something just warm and comforting would be something he would enjoy?

She places her hand on her chin and purses her lips together.

“Ahh, yes!” she says aloud.

Gwyn grabs various pinches and places them into a small bowl.

Black tea, dried citrus peel, rose petals, almond, cinnamon.

A whisky soaked vanilla pod is the last ingredient chosen.

“Perfect.”

There is cold water in the kettle.

She waits patiently for it to boil. She’s sure there’s analogy between that and her relationship with Solas, an element of waiting, longing to rush things she knows she cannot.

She’s never been a patient elf.

Gwyn checks her pot to make sure that it’s clean. The water has boiled and she places a small amount of the hot water in the pot and swirls it around leaving it to warm.

She prepares the tray two cups ready to go and empties the pot when this is done before placing two spoons of her blend in the pot. The water follows.

Steam wafts from the openings.

One final touch, mustn't forget the whiskey soaked vanilla pod.

She carries the tray upstairs, through the cellars and past the vault up past the door to Josephine and across the great hall floor.

When she enters, Solas has his back to her, his head leans down pouring over some artefact.

“Solas.” Her voice is barely audible yet he responds immediately.

“Inquisitor.” He tilts his head and looks quizzically at the tray she carries. “Tea for two?”

Gwyn nods enthusiastically.

Solas takes the tray from her and gently nudges aside the articles littering the table. He gestures for her to sit.

“How long does it need?”

“You can pour it now.” She replies.

He pours a cup for her, then one for him before sitting on a stool opposite.

She watches him attentively. His eyes close as he takes the first sip.

When he opens them again there is a look. No words. Just glances. Eyes dancing, eyelids fluttering. A small smile passes between them as she brings her own cup to her lips. She looks down as the brew floats into her mouth. The cinnamon and almond makes her nostrils flare and the whiskey makes her throat burn. The rose petals comfort her and the zest of the peel makes her sit up straight. This is a good blend she thinks.

When she looks up from studying her cup she catches him staring at her. He’s no longer smiling. The look she sees in his eyes is one of longing, of need and want. One she has never seen before but she knows she wants to see again. He smiles a small smile and Gwyn feels the sudden burn in her cheeks and it’s not the brew that has done this. His smile widens.

This is the moment. This is the blend. This is where love begins and her heart swells.


	4. Stolen Kisses

Edvin Cadash knew he’d have his work cut out for him. The good lady ambassador’s affections had been difficult to gain; nevertheless, he desired to please her, as she was everything he wanted. 

At first, he’s reserved about his feelings. He secretly watched her from the ramparts, walking to and fro, to Cullen or Cassandra, her gold satin ruffles shining in the mountain sun. He’s jealous of Blackwall’s courtly affections to the good lady. What the hell could a dwarf like him know of such affairs? Therefore, he asked the faux warden and made his intentions known. The large man chuckled and said that he’d be a far more deserving suitor, the lady ambassador was lovely and if he could make her content, that’s how it should be, except might he make a suggestion? ‘A lady like Josephine was used to the finer details in life, all I could give her was flowers; you have an Inquisition at your disposal!’

His heart leapt into his mouth as his eyes feasted upon her. He tried not to stare, to make himself known, although by the Paragons it was difficult. The way she stood, all grace, beauty and he in contrast, all left feet. Except in battle, he was steady and strong, as every dwarven warrior should be. However, when it came to affairs that are more delicate, he was not adept. He sighed loudly every time a thought turned that way. If he’d been Andrastian, he might call on the Maker to give him a hand. He knew the Dwarven ancestors would have none of this nonsense, no such business as courtly love there, duty and honour predominated.

He walked into the Skyhold kitchens and headed to the pantry. The cook nodded, his presence there was nothing new. He liked to snack. More often than not, it involved something elaborate in the middle of the night, the kitchen staff knew what he liked, and everything he needed was usually in stock.

Today, he’d taken a basket and the cook glanced at him quizzically as he passed.

The pantry was full and there was remaining egg pie from the previous night. He took the remains and wrapped it carefully in cloth. 

He took tomatoes, the little ones of course. They’re sweeter and more flavoursome and made him recall visits to the surface with his father where they would raid kitchen gardens – much to his childish delight. He’d gorge himself sick, his father would then slap him on the back and laugh. Later he’d and offer him a plateful of tomatoes for dinner that night, and he would turn green at the thought. However, it’s a cherished memory of his father he kept close, and he bore no animosity to the red tasty fruit.

He fossicked for other foods to add, there was pickled onion and herring from the coast. A loaf of fresh bread fresh from the kitchen ovens that was still warm. He stepped into the cooler, grabbed a block of cheese and fresh mountain berries, a sign that spring has begun on the cold slopes outside Skyhold’s walls.

He snorted loudly when he spotted the treasure buried in the darkest cooler corner. Whoever secreted this this horde of chocolate had no idea about his nose. There are a dozen untouched delicacies. He sneaks one into his mouth. The chocolate rolled onto his thick tongue; it melted slowly as the cocoa rich flavour melded with the after taste of sweet sugar. This was delicate enough for Josephine.

The rest of the feast was simple and hearty. He put the full basket aside in the cooler and headed off for discussions with Cullen.

When he returned, hours later, he grabbed the basket and headed to the wine cellar. He couldn’t make up his mind between something light and fruity or something a little more substantial. He took both. 

When he reached Josephine’s office, she was with a messenger and appeared angry, something he’d rarely seen. He stopped, hesitated to approach her, and marvelled at her technique of dealing with the messenger. She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and turned her attentions to him.

“Inquisitor,” she said, her manner formal. “What can I do for you?”

He hesitated before answering. “If you have time a picnic lunch? Or on the ramparts if you’re too busy, or even here if you prefer.”

He was rewarded with a wide smile, one he knew as just a little bit coy and knowing. Josephine was skilled enough to judge the motivations of those around her. 

“Unless you have something pressing of course?” He nodded towards the door where the messenger departed.

“It’s nothing, your Worship. Nothing I can’t handle, or if worse comes to worse, I can always ask Leliana to help out.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “For now, yes. I’m famished, the ramparts? To take in the sun?”

“Please, call me Ed,” he said as he proffered the triangle of his arm.

She slipped her hand through the space and they headed to the Western ramparts, the quietest in Skyhold.

They sat on the bench gazing outward to the mountains and Ed lay a cloth down between them.

The mini-feast began. Each course Josephine nibbles at delicately whilst he tried to hold back on his usual gluttony. The egg pie she licked her fingers and the berries she devoured easily. The wine she holds back “No more than one glass otherwise I shall never finish anything this afternoon!”

The time passed all too quickly for Edvin. They have sat on the ramparts for over an hour

“I must head back to my office, Inq—Ed,” she said.

He held up a finger, “One more treat my good Lady Montilyet.” He offered the box of chocolates to her. He hoped for a squeal, a laugh, or a twinkle in her eye. However, there was naught bar disappointment splashed across her face.

“You don’t like chocolates, Josephine?” He asked.

“Oh no I love–” she stopped and stared at the chocolate, “I must leave, your worship.” She stood and headed back towards the great hall. 

Edvin stared at the remaining bounty, and stared after Josephine. His appetite for anything hearty disappeared with a swish of gold satin.

He sighed, packed up the remains and returned to his duties, not sure what he’d done.

Several days passed there was barely a word between the two and Edvin couldn’t take it any longer. After the day was done, he went to see Josephine.

“Inquisitor,” she said.

“Can I have a word, Josephine?”

She nodded.

“The other day, when we had lunch, you left in a hurry. Did I upset you?”

Josephine lowered her head and her shoulders dropped.

“Did I say something wrong?” he stuttered.

“Inquisitor, it was perfect until–”

“Until?”

“Those chocolates, they were mine. I hid them so no one could find them. I had them specially delivered from Val Royeaux after—after what happened to Haven. I thought I deserved that much.”

Edwin stood mouth agape.

“I can hardly blame you though, I mean–”

Edvin grabbed Josephine’s hands with his own, “Wait for me, I’ll be back.” He departed leaving Josephine scratching her chin.

Two weeks passed and Edvin sat high in his saddle as they headed up the valley to Skyhold. The grin he wore was from ear to ear. Cassandra sighed.

“I can’t believe we went all the way there for – that,” she said. “We could have at least stopped somewhere on the road and done something—useful.”

“Come now Seeker, doesn’t the inquisitor require an occasional morale boosting trip?” Varric winked at Edvin who’s smile had lasted almost twenty miles.

Cassandra shook her head and muttered.

When they arrived at the gates, Edvin jumped from his mount and ran to the great hall and straight to Josephine’s office. He burst through the door. Josephine gasped her hand flying to her chest.

“Inquistor?”

Edvin, breathless, and smiling, rounded her desk and kneeled beside her. He held out a large box that was tied with ribbon.

“This is for you, Lady Montilyet.”

She tilted her head quizzically and took the box and placed it on top of her desk. She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Her brow furrowed. Inside, a letter placed carefully on top of red tissue paper. She opened the letter and began to read.

_My dearest Josephine, it’s with deepest regret that I, Edvin Cadash, stole your much-treasured chocolate. I forget that what happened in Haven affected us all. That it was not just our warriors, soldiers and mages who stood true; it was everyone who worked behind the scenes. I took those chocolates without thinking. I wanted something to please you and when I observed the frown on your face I knew I had done just the opposite. Please take this as an apology and a promise, for I only stole the chocolates because you stole my heart._

Josephine bit her lip, folded the note up, placed it to one side, and removed the red tissue paper. Inside, delicately placed, two dozen gold foil wrapped chocolates. A single tear floated down Josephine’s cheek and she wiped it away.

Edvin swallowed hard his chin tilted downward. He had once again disappointed her. He sighed.

Josephine turned to him and placed her hands on his cheeks.

“You must promise to me Edvin Cadash–”

His eyes widened in surprised as she bent and bought her face to his. She laid her soft, smooth hands gently on his rough cheeks, and pressed her plump lips to his dry course ones. He was parched from the road, but this quenched any thirst other than that for more kisses. She broke from him, her hands still lingering on his face.

“That the only thing you will ever steal from me, is a kiss.”

A ludicrous smile danced on his face, he nodded and kissed her again, the taste finer than Orlesian chocolate.


	5. Lover's knot, right half

Joshua Trevelyan is not an easy man to love. He’s hard and abrasive with odd mannerisms that set him apart. He’s also a broken man, his strangeness only a reflection of past suffering. There is only one other person in Skyhold who can see through that, who can offer him what he really needs and Joshua is tempted to drop everything and run to him right now. 

He realizes what day it is only because Josie had called on him to discuss visitors to Skyhold. He’d brushed her off with a nod and ‘yes that was fine’, but now he can’t stop thinking about it, his past haunts him still. His hands peak in front of him.

Had it really been 2 years? Had he been here in Skyhold for more than 6 months? He didn’t have time for this, it’s not as though thoughts of that day didn’t haunt him on a daily basis, that he bore scars both inside and out because of it. He needs his mind occupied, with food, with sex, with anything that doesn’t involve the inquisition. He’s sent Bull away on an errand with the chargers and he won’t return until nightfall so there’s only one place that might stall his agitated state.

Inside the kitchen of Skyhold, the cook furrows her brow as Joshua enters. “Is there anything I can help you with, my Lord Trevelyan?”

Joshua grunts, “I need flour and yeast. Some oil, salt, sugar, butter, garlic and parsley.”

The cook motions to the two younger kitchen hands standing nearby to hastily gather the ingredients and lay them on the large preparation table.

“Are the ovens stoked?” Joshua asks.

“They are, your Worship and they will be till after supper this evening.” The dark haired kitchen hand replies. The other, younger and meeker bows his head and adverts his eyes as Joshua looks at him.

He’s used to this reaction and tries to counter act it with a weakly formed smile. “I’d like to take up some space--” he pauses, “If you don’t mind.”

The cook nods again and ushers the two scared kitchen hands out the door. “We’re mostly finished here for the next few hours. If you need anything, your Worship, we’ll be down in the stores.” They left without further word.

Joshua knows he’s inconveniencing the staff, but if he needs to keep his mind occupied for at least a few hours until his lover returns. He places a cloth apron around his waist and washes his hands in the cook’s basin.

The first step is to sprinkle the yeast on top of the warm water and let it sit. He watches it froth and bubble and his gaze becomes lost in the gurgling fizz of the mix.

In another bowl he whisks together the flour, salt and sugar. He pours in the oil, then the yeast-water mixture. This forms a soft dough that he kneads gently. It takes a light touch, like with motions of a dagger, precision is required. He allows it to sit and leaves to attend to other duties. 

On his return, the mix is ready. He cuts the dough in half, flattens it, and rolls it with such precision you would think he was a baker by trade. He slices the dough into strips and ties each piece into a knot and lays them on a baking tray. He’s called to deal with Cullen for a few hours, and the timing is perfect for the second rise.

A few hours later he hears that Bull and the Chargers have returned, so he hurries back to the kitchen. He sets the risen knots on a baking tray and places them in the still stoked ovens. He melts butter in a pan and fries the garlic gently in it just long enough to take off that raw garlic edge. To the mix he adds salt and parsley.

The knots are ready he paints the garlic mixture on them, places them in a basket and heads to the tavern.

Bull is in his usual spot, a tankard in hand. Joshua asks for his company and for his Chargers, he offers the basket.

Bull peaks into the basket, his nostrils flare at the yeasty garlicky smell, and raises an eyebrow. He downs his drink, takes two of the knots and follows Joshua back to his apartment.

Bull finishes the second knot by the time they are alone together, “Very nice, Kadan. But tell me, why is the first son of the noble house of Trevelyan baking bread?”

Joshua gives a nervous laugh, “Call it a coping mechanism, something I do to take the edge off. I’ve done it since I was a child. Every day, my father and mother would send me to do a task for the servants. They said it built character. To realise ones place is to govern over those who do the most work one needed to understand -- by doing work. My favourite was always being sent to the kitchens. The pastry cook, an elf so ancient I swore there was little difference between her and a corpse, showed me how to make bread. For some reason, I liked it.”

“So without me present in Skyhold, you took to baking bread?” Bull asks.

Joshua nods, “I did, yes.”

“So what troubles you, Kadan? Why do you need to take the ‘edge off’ in this manner?”

Joshua sighs and wraps his arms around Bulls torso, “An anniversary. One I’d like to forget.”

“Well despite today’s long journey, I will take special care of your needs, Kadan. If that’s what you require.” Bull grips Joshua’s shoulders tight.

“Yes, I would like that, if you are not too tired.” He leans up to look at him.

“You baked me and my Chargers bread. In the shape of a knot no less. I owe you something for that kind thought you had of me.” Bull kissed him hard on the mouth, before breaking from the kiss. “Kadan, it is only fair that I complete the other half of the lover’s knot that you give to me freely. The question remains, how tight would you like my knot to be?”

Joshua smiles, “As tight as can be.”


	6. Delicious Dalish delicacies delight discerning Dorian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer than the others mainly because Varriel is one of my main OC's (my main male OC) and I have paid he and Dorian scant attention in fiction. Content warning: they will be eating insects in this!

The Iron Bull looked down at Inquisitor Varriel Lavellan currently bent over an impromptu campfire at the base of large tree. “Err, Boss, what are you doing now?”

Varriel continued to blow on the twigs in his hand and ignored his companion. The bundle was dry enough to burn slowly and with a significant amount of smoke. “Okay, that should do it. This tree, lift me up onto that branch – there.” He pointed to one high enough that in order to reach it, Bull had to place Varriel’s feet in his hands and stretch his arms overhead so Varriel could scramble on to the branch.

Bull watched as he climbed, the third tree today, here on the Exalted Plains and the first one he’d climbed with a smoking pile of straw. Each time he came down with a leather pouch and wearing a satisfied smile on his face saying nothing and avoiding Bull’s hardly subtle questions.

“Aha!” Varriel yelled. “Watch out below.”

Bull sidestepped the burning twigs and stomped it underneath his large foot. He thought Varriel asked him to fight a dragon on the Plains, but instead he’d been relegated to stepladder and packhorse.

When Varriel hit the last branch, Bull helped him climb down.

“That should do it. Now we just need to visit that Dalish clan we saw in the southeast. They should have what I want.”

Bull shook his head, not one to get easily exasperated he had no idea what Varriel was doing. “Does this have something to do with Scout Harding? I saw that large net and pack she took out this morning.”

Varriel looked up at him. “Your spy sense not working, Bull? You know little of the Dalish it seems.”

Bull looked his boss up and down, he might not know the Dalish, but he knew Varriel. There was pink in his cheeks and sparkle in his bright green eyes. He sighed and pursed his lips. “True, but I am wagering that it has something to do with a certain Vint.”

Varriel shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Can I see what’s in your pouches then?”

Varriel sighed and reluctantly opened the first two still tied at his hip. Bull squinted as he tried to make out what they were. “They look like maggots. And those? Are they nuts?”

He held up one pouch “Yes these are nuts.” Varriel made a tut-tut noise. “However, these are caterpillars, not maggots, they are two different things, Bull.” He held up the third. “These are Hornet pupae. Or as we Dalish know it, the Bellanaris Din'an Heem Hornet. I needed the smoke to pacify the insects in the nest.”

It took a few seconds for Bull to connect the dots with what Varriel had planned, when it dawned he started to double up with laughter.

Varriel shut the pouches his jaw clenched tight.

Finally, Bull stood up. “I’m sorry boss, I really am. I’m not laughing at you, or your custom, I’m just–” He broke into more loud guffaws before wiping a tear from his eye. “I so want to be there when you feed that Vint those bugs.”

Varriel gave an exaggerated sigh. “They’re a delicacy, Bull. Nutritious, tasty, and cooked in the right way, I’ve heard they even have them at special Orlesian dinners.”

“I know this boss, I’ve tried a few of them in my time, they were very tasty, although they never seemed to be enough for me. Too small a serving. But I’m sure the Orlesian Nobles loved it, but this is Dorian we’re talking about. Perhaps if you ask him to wear a blindfold?”

Varriel shook his head. “I am not going to make him wear a blindfold.” He bit his lip and rubbed a foot in the dirt. “Should I?”

“Boss, you do whatever you think fits. I know I wouldn’t need a blindfold.” Bull continued to chuckle.

“This is why I didn’t tell anybody what I was doing,” Varriel groaned. “Let’s just go.”

Back at Skyhold Varriel secreted himself away in the mountain fortress kitchen. The feast was to be at least four courses. If Dorian could stomach it. He beavered away for the whole afternoon after his return, a visit from Bull curious to see what was on offer and definitely not helping the process. Finally he was ready and asked a messenger to send for Dorian and take him to his apartments.

When Dorian arrived, Varriel stood by the mantelpiece lighting candles and in the middle of the room was a table set with ornate silver ready for an intimate dinner.

“Amatus, I had no idea you had returned.”

“Liar,” Varriel said as he moved to embrace him.

They kissed, lingering for a while in each other’s arms. “So this is why you didn’t come racing to see me? You were arranging dinner for us?”

“Not just arranging, but, making.”

Dorian’s brows knitted together in a puzzled expression. “You made dinner?”

Varriel nodded. “It’s, aah–” He bowed his head and a flush of red came to the tips of his ears. “I wanted to share some Dalish cuisine with you, but in a style that might be–” He cleared his throat. “In a style that might be more suitable for a human. Bull didn’t think you would want to try them so I thought I would adapt what I know to suit your palate.”

Dorian laughed. “Pffft to The Iron Bull. What that lump knows about me I could place in a thimble, even if he is a spy. Of course I would try anything made by you.”

Varriel let out a huge breath. “Falon’din enaste.”

“So what have we got that could make Bull think that of me? What Dalish delicacies does Lord Lavellan lavish upon me?” Dorian raised one eyebrow.

Varriel pulled out the chair for Dorian to sit just as the kitchen staff arrived with the food. They placed them on a table Varriel had set up to the side, and as requested, they were covered with cloches.

Dorian rubbed his hands together and Varriel poured him a drink from a large brown bottle.

“Beer?”

“To go with the first course. It’s an ale, old brown, first brewed in the southern region of Orlais.”

“Hardly Dalish,” Dorian said.

“I did say I’d adapted the menu for humans.”

Varriel pulled the cloche of the first dish. “This is fried elm tree caterpillars with Rivani spices. It’s considered tasty snack to accompany a forest brew. Clan Lavellan’s halla keeper knew how to make a potent concoction. We would normally eat the caterpillar raw from the tree, but any chance to add spices and share a drink with other clan members–”

Dorian’s mouth gaped open. “Insects? Fried insects?”

“Yes.” Varriel’s hand went to the handle of the cloche. “I– I–” he stuttered.

Dorian tilted his head a weak smile came to his lips. He took a sip of ale then a spoonful of the crunchy spicy insect larvae. 

He swallowed and tilted his head. “You know that’s not bad. They sort of pop in your mouth. Might be a tad bland without the spices, but works well with this–” He lifted his glass and took another swig of the ale. “You can look relieved now, Varriel, I’ve yet to go screaming from the room.”

Varriel took a mouthful of ale and a handful of catepillars.

He uncovered the second platter.

“A Salad? Looks harmless enough. Or does it too have creepy crawlies?” Dorian asked as he narrowed his eyes to look amongst the green leaves.

“This is a Plains Pine nut salad. The cones from the Exalted Plains pine are as big as horses head, and fruit only every few years. I was lucky to find one so easily given some of the devastation there.”

“It looks tasty.” Dorian admitted.

“It is! We usually soak the nuts in brine for a day then dry roast them in a charcoal pit. I didn’t have time for that, but they should be salty and crunchy enough and the dressing is tasty.”

Dorian took a forkful of salad with pine nut. “It melts in the mouth, the roasted nut that is. And the rocket, so very peppery, they complement each other well.”

Varriel took several mouthfuls. “They reminded me of my childhood. I once bit into an uncooked one and lost two teeth. But the biggest memory for me is coming back from the hunt on a cold winter day. You could smell them cooking. The aroma wafting between tents and caravans.” Varriel closed his eyes and sighed.

When he opened them Dorian was grinning from ear to ear. “Amatus, that smile, I just want to kiss you.”

“No rule about kissing between courses.” Varriel smiled and blew a kiss across the table.

When the third dish was revealed Dorian could see skewers of pale meat chargrilled combined with mushrooms and what looked to be roasted vegetables and some sort of grain. “What is this?”

“This is Bellanaris Din'an Heem Hornet skewers, chargrilled with vegetables and halla yogurt dipping sauce.”

“Hornet. As in large dangerous stinging insect that can kill a man.”

“Well, technically, Bellanaris Din'an Heem translates as ‘make you dead’”

“The ‘make you dead’ hornet. That is not appealing in the slightest.”

“It’s the pupae, if that makes it any easier to swallow.”

“Aren’t pupae like the teenagers of the insect world, transforming between young and adult?”

“Well– yes I guess that is the case. I never thought of it like that.”

“The question is will these kill me?”

“Oh Dorian, would I be feeding them to you if they were to do that? I’m not a member of some weird death cult you know.”

“I know, I know.” Dorian sighed and picked up a skewer. “I will tell myself they look like prawns from the Tevinter coast, and all shall be well. We really could do with more wine.”

Varriel poured a glass of wine for him and watched as Dorian ate, spooning the yogurt onto the skewered meat. Varriel smiled when he saw Dorian nodding his head and reaching for another skewer.

“And– the final - a modification of sorts. Locusts, pan fried with sugar until caramelised.”

“I hope you have a damn good fortified wine to go with that,” Dorian said.

“We usually dip them in honey– as it happens–” Varriel pulled out some fine Antivan brandy and a chocolate dipping sauce. “Will this suffice?”

“More than.” Dorian picked up the sticky cooked insect and looked it over. “Far too many legs.” He dipped it in the sauce and took a bite. He took a mouthful of brandy and leaned back in his chair. “Well Amatus, that was certainly an interesting, and surprisingly delicious meal given the ingredients.”

“Yes, Bull said–”

Dorian put up his hand. “Ugh, stop. I will show that brute that I am willing to at least try anything for my love. Even in there, uh, natural state.”

“Raw? The true Dalish way?” Varriel opened his eyes in surprise.

“Tomorrow you tell him, in the Tavern, at noon. You have some of these left–” he wrinkled his nose and pointed to the caterpillars. “Uncooked?”

“Yes. I have a personal stock of them. Are you really?”

Dorian stood and moved around to the other side of the table where Varriel remained seated. He placed his hands on Varriel’s shoulders “You have no idea how much I dislike to be a laughing stock to The Iron Bull. So I intend on showing him exactly how far I am willing to go.”

“Well Bull’s needling–”

“Exactly! That’s what he planned, to needle and annoy, and he knew it would get back to me. But, let’s not dwell. Amatus, you cooked me a lavish Dalish meal and I love that you would share this with me. Extremely thoughtful of you, more so because you actually went to the trouble to cook the little beasts in a style that might make them more appetising to me. But –”

“But?” Varriel turned to face him.

“I’m still hungry.” He ran his fingers over his moustache.

“Oh well, we still have more fried caterpillars and locu–”

Dorian placed his finger over Varriel’s lips and raised his brows. “Oh you silly, silly elf. I have a much different Dalish delicacy in mind.”

Varriel was quiet for a second. “Oh, you mean–” he laughed.

Dorian leaned in and kissed him softly. “Yes. That is exactly what I mean.”


End file.
